


that's why we're still waiting

by mieraspeller



Series: werewolf summer [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mieraspeller/pseuds/mieraspeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants sex, and Derek wants to stay out of handcuffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that's why we're still waiting

“Stiles. Stop.”  
  
Stiles drapes himself over Derek, leaning on Derek’s chest with a pout. “Come on, Derek! I’m gonna be the oldest virgin in Beacon Hills. I’ll be 18 in three months! Haven’t we waited long enough?”  
  
Derek just looks away, clenching his jaw hard enough that it looks like it might crack under the strain.  
  
“I love you,” Stiles says, trying to keep the frustration from his voice as he leans up to press a kiss against Derek’s neck. “I want to blow you. I want you to fuck me. And vice versa.”  
  
“Stop being a brat,” Derek grits out, rolling Stiles to the side. He’s up and out the door before Stiles can even thrash his way out of the sheets.  
  
“Jerk,” Stiles mutters, punching the mattress. Stuffing the pillow under his face and screaming isn’t effective when there are werewolves around, but Stiles could not care less at this point. He’s trying to decide whether driving over to Derek’s place and jacking off in his bed would get him killed or not, when someone clears their throat from the doorway.  
  
“What,” he mutters, not bothering to look up. If Derek is already crawling back, he will just table those plans until further notice.  
  
“Is there a reason Derek is in the living room?”  
  
Stiles jerks up and ends up flailing off the bed when he tries to turn around. “Dad! I thought you were working the late shift. What are you doing home?”  
  
His dad looks unfairly amused while Stiles fights his way out of the sheet tangled around his legs. “I thought I’d come home and have dinner with you. But it looks like you have plans. And by plans I mean things that are happening above the waist only. Because I don’t want to have to arrest your boyfriend.”  
  
“Of course! Wait, he’s still here?” Stiles asks, surreptitiously checking his pants. All fastened and accounted for, thankfully. “Dinner sounds good. Our one hundred percent G-rated date was over anyways,” he adds, unable to keep the bite out of his tone. Half hoping that Derek is listening in. Stiles picks himself off the floor, ignoring his dad’s raised eyebrows. By the time he’s done putting his bed back in order, his dad is gone. He grabs Derek's jacket off the floor and tosses it over his desk chair so Derek won't throw a hissy fit like he did last time Stiles stepped on it.  
  
If life even pretends to be fair, Derek will have left by the time Stiles gets to the kitchen, but he doubts it. Even if Derek was listening, he’s been bizarrely stubborn about staying in Stiles’ dad’s good graces. Sneaking out in the middle of a pseudo date probably wouldn’t endear Derek to his dad, and Derek is smart enough to know that as well.  
  
“Derek’s staying for dinner,” his dad announces over his shoulder. Stiles rolls his eyes and drops into the chair farthest from Derek.  
  
“Great.” He knows he sounds annoyed, but Stiles would actually rather not be forced into polite conversation with his father and his (stupid, cockblocking) boyfriend right now, thanks. Stiles sticks to monosyllables, because if he starts talking, it’ll probably be about the ridiculously high age of consent in California, because, eighteen, seriously? Half the states in the US are at sixteen. But he’s pretty sure his dad doesn’t want to hear his arguments (again), so he keeps his mouth shut and tries not to wince at the painfully polite small talk between his dad and Derek.  
  
“You two get the dishes,” his dad says when the torture finally ends. Stiles nods and Derek shrugs and his dad escapes before anyone can say anything else awkward.  
  
“You don’t have to help,” Stiles tells Derek as he starts scraping the plates into the trash. Derek just pushes his way past Stiles and starts putting the silverware in the dishwasher.  
  
“Fine, sure. You want to help with dishes, but you don’t want to make out, that makes sense,” Stiles mumbles, even though he knows Derek will hear him. Sure enough, Derek’s shoulders tense.  
  
“Stiles,” he says warningly, but Stiles rolls his eyes. “Everyone else my age is having sex!”  
  
“With other people your age.”  
  
“Oh my god, Derek!” Stiles starts, grabbing the serving bowls and practically throwing them on the counter. “Why are you so-”  
  
Derek leaves.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
No one else in the pack has useful advice for Stiles. Erica tells him to give Derek a blowjob, which is basically the complete opposite of helpful, and Boyd just says to give him time. Not even Lydia has anything useful to contribute. Stiles is sure that Derek would not appreciate flowers or chocolates. Maybe more weaponry, but that takes time and sneakiness to acquire. He’s seriously considering going to Deaton for advice, because apparently all of his friends are totally helpless at this shit. It’s Friday night, though, and he doesn’t think Deaton would appreciate a call about his relationship woes at the moment. Or ever.  
  
Stiles finishes up his homework while he tries to figure out what he’s going to say to Derek. Especially since he’s not answering his phone. It only takes him a couple of minutes to drive over to Derek’s place, and he brings the jacket along so he has a sort of valid reason to be there. Working up the nerve to get out of his Jeep takes... slightly longer.  
  
When Stiles finally makes it to the fourth floor, Isaac is waiting in the doorway of Derek’s apartment. They aren’t best friends or anything, but Isaac has chilled out a bit over the past two years. It helps that they have a mutual interest in all things comic -- no one else in the pack is willing to watch The Spirit with Stiles. Stiles does a sort of half wave, rocking back on his heels when Isaac doesn’t move from where he’s blocking the entrance. “Hey, man. Is Derek home?”  
  
“Um,” Isaac says, glancing back anxiously. “I don’t think he wants to talk to you right now?” he offers apologetically.  
  
Stiles wants to argue his way in - he knows he can, Isaac is a pushover if you know the right buttons to push. If he played the apology card well enough, Isaac would fold like a napkin. But. He knows Derek gets pissed whenever the pack takes advantage of Isaac’s good nature, and Stiles is already on Derek’s shit list. Plus, getting in the apartment is not a guarantee that Derek will actually listen to Stiles, which is... not something Stiles wants to think about, actually.  
  
“Okay. I just wanted to talk to him. So maybe have him call me? When he gets a chance.” Stiles shifts awkwardly and then thrusts the jacket at Isaac then hops back a step.. "Here. See you later,” he adds.  
  
Stiles makes it to the stairs before Isaac calls, “Hey, Stiles. Good luck.”  
  
Flipping Isaac off is probably not going to help the mature picture he’s trying to present, but Stiles does it anyways. He can hear Isaac laughing all the way back to his Jeep.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
“Derek’s impersonating a storm cloud again.”  
  
Stiles grunts in response as Scott hauls himself the rest of the way through Stiles’ window. “Yeah, he came in and rained the rest of us out of his apartment. You know, with his cloud of angst.”  
  
“Unsurprising,” Stiles says, only glancing up from his Calculus homework long enough to see the pleased expression falling from Scott’s face.  
  
“Did you guys fight?”  
  
“Just a tiny one,” Stiles hedges, because he knows that Scott hates when Stiles and Derek fight. Which is why Stiles didn’t call him for advice. He knows it’s because of Scott’s dad, but Stiles really doesn’t want to examine why that would be. He gets enough crap about being some sort of parental figure to a bunch of people the same age as him as it is.  
  
The bed drops as Scott flings himself onto it and squashes against Stiles. “He looked really sad.”  
  
“No, he didn’t,” Stiles says, because Derek’s face has two expressions around Scott, and neither of them remotely resemble sadness.  
  
“For Derek he looked sad,” Scott insists.  
  
“Maybe if he let us have a happy ending, he wouldn’t look that way.” Stiles regrets the words as soon as he says them, and not only because Scott is giving him a betrayed look. “Sorry, sorry, I know, no discussions of sexy times with Derek.”  
  
“Dude.”  
  
“Not that there’s anything to discuss.” Stiles adds, and then has to laugh at Scott’s outraged face. Scott shoves him, but it’s half hearted and Stiles just grins at him before he turns back to his problem set. He’s halfway done when Scott starts fidgeting. After another moment Scott lets out a huge sigh  
  
“Dude,” Stiles says, cutting a glance sideways at Scott.  
  
“It’s just... haven’t you guys had this argument like ten times, already? Seriously, you’ve been dating for almost a year -- what’s three more months?”  
  
Stiles throws down his pencil and glares at Scott. “Yeah, a year. You’ve been having sex for two years! Everyone else in the pack has been having sex for years! How is it fair that I finally have a super hot boyfriend, and I still can’t get any freaking action?”  
  
“Uh, maybe because Derek is like, way older than us? And he’ll go to prison if anyone finds out?”  
  
“My dad would not arrest Derek.”  
  
“He’s the Sheriff. It’s his job to arrest people who break the law.”  
  
“Dude, my dad isn’t going to arrest him!” Stiles is pretty sure he won’t. Even if Scott is looking at him like he knows that Stiles is wrong. “And it’s your fault anyways - if you hadn’t spilled the beans about me and Derek-”  
  
“He would have found out eventually! He figured out about werewolves on his own, you think he’s not going to notice that his son is dating someone?”  
  
“I hate when you’re reasonable,” Stiles says. Which is true. It’s probably one of the signs of apocalypse or something. Scott just nods thoughtfully and then laughs when Stiles tries to push him off the bed. “Dammit. Now I’m feeling guilt. You suck.”  
  
Scott shrugs. “Well, you’re kind of being a jerk. If I was pressuring Allison about having sex as often as you do to Derek -”  
  
“Oh my god, I get it!” Stiles flings himself backwards on the bed and prepares to marinate in guilt for a while. God, he has been an asshole. Even though he knew that Derek was trying to be good. Being nice to his dad, making sure Stiles kept his curfew... he even let Stiles’ dad help him find a freaking apartment. “I hate apologizing,” he says, and Scott makes a really unsympathetic noise. But he starts petting Stiles’ hair, so Stiles magnanimously decides to forgive him.  
  
  
\--  
  
  
  
Scott stays and plays a game on his phone even though Stiles know they have the same homework. He ends up kicking him out at eleven with stern instructions to work on his math for at least an hour before sneaking into Allison’s room. Of course, with Scott gone, Stiles has even less to distract himself from his guilt. Thankfully Stiles is ace at both multitasking and ignoring his problems, and decides to throw himself into research. At least this way he’ll have a peace offering to go with his apology.  
  
Derek climbs in his window around midnight. Something that Stiles tries not to read too much into, because Derek’s been adamant about coming in through the front door since Stiles’ dad found out about them. Plus he’s totally breaking Stiles’ curfew, which means he’s either here about a supernatural problem, or to viciously rip Stiles’ heart from his chest. Uh. Metaphorically. Because the literal interpretation would probably piss Stiles’ dad off.  
  
And now all Stiles can think of is how at least one person will be happy if Derek decides to break up with him. Great.  
  
Stiles is looking up trolls, because you seriously never know in Beacon Hills, and he likes to be prepared. Of course, Derek just stands next to the window like a big werewolf statue until Stiles sighs and levers himself into sitting cross legged on the bed.  
  
“So, are trolls a thing?” he asks, and Derek sags like his strings have been cut. Pretending to cough to cover nervous laughter is sadly about as effective as he expects, but Derek glaring at him is normal enough to release the rest of the tension in the room.  
  
“I’ve never seen one,” Derek finally says. Which isn’t a no, so Stiles decides he’ll keep looking tomorrow. Right now, he nods and closes his laptop.  
  
“Good. According to this, they aren’t exactly friendly.” Stiles closes his mouth with a snap.  
  
“Did you want to talk to me for a reason? Or are you just going to spout a bunch of useless information at me until you get up the nerve to try and grab my dick?” Derek asks. If he had sounded angry, Stiles probably would have snapped back with some smart ass comment. But Derek just sounds tired. And abruptly all the guilt that Stiles had been ignoring since he around the time Scott left is rushing back to him. Derek isn’t supposed to sound like around Stiles. The one reasonable explanation Stiles had been able to come up with for Derek even agreeing to be his boyfriend was that Stiles made him laugh. Maybe he isn’t happy, exactly, not all the time, but Stiles’ likes Derek’s half covered laugh, and his smirks. Not this awful resignation.  
  
“Isaac passed on the message? Or you heard me because you were hiding in your room.” Derek looks like he’s about to protest, so Stiles hurriedly adds, “Not that I didn’t deserve it! I was a dick, I know. If even Scott thought I was being an asshole to you, then....” He scrubs roughly at his hair, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to look at Derek. His disappointed face is almost as bad as Stiles’ dad’s. “I’m really sorry. Really. I shouldn’t have been... pressuring you. Plus, the whole illegality thing. So. I’ll try not to... you know. Do that. In the future. I might relapse, but feel free to tell me when I’m being a jerk.”  
  
There isn’t a response from Derek, so Stiles peeks up, just to make sure he hasn’t dived out the window to escape all the feelings in the room. His face is still set in it’s resting angst slash anger expression, but he looks like he’s softening. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Tentatively, Stiles adds, “Or you can continue being mad? But if you could give me a hint on how to make it up to you, that would be really, really helpful.”  
  
“You don’t need to make anything up,” Derek says, and he sounds like he’d like to be annoyed, but Stiles can tell he’s moved onto the ‘exasperated yet fond’ stage. “Just stop trying to stick your hand down my pants whenever we’re alone.”  
  
“Got it! I can totally do that... uh. Is that a moratorium on all future hands in pants action, or just until I turn eighteen?”  
  
Derek snorts. “I’ll let you know.” He shifts awkwardly, then adds, “Come over tomorrow.”  
  
Even though Derek didn’t actually ask, Stiles nods. Hanging out with Derek even sans happy times is still better than not hanging out with Derek, Stiles has realized. Then Derek turns to climb back out the window and Stiles scrambles to the edge of the bed.  
  
“Wait, just, wait a minute,” Stiles says and Derek straightens up and then raises his eyebrows questioningly. “Come here.” He tacks on a, “please,” when Derek opens his mouth to argue.  
  
“We just went over this.” Derek sounds tired, and Stiles can’t help but wince. But he sticks to his guns, because maybe he has dumb ideas, but he also has a freaking ton of awesome ideas, and this is one of them.  
  
“I’m not going to molest you, Derek, I swear. I just. Can you just come here for a minute?” Stiles slides to the edge of the bed and puts on his best pleading face. Opening his arms a bit for good measure. Conflicting emotions flit across Derek’s face, faster than Stiles can follow, but he must finally remember that, hey, Stiles does have good ideas. Or maybe he just knows how stubborn Stiles can be. Whatever.  
  
“Fine. But your dad will be home in twenty minutes,” he warns as he stalks forward. Stiles nods again, then pulls Derek’s jacket off and drags him down on the bed with him. Derek lets him, but he’s tense and unmoving as he allows Stiles to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck and push his cold nose against his jaw. After a few moments he relaxes, seeming to realize that Stiles isn’t even moving, let alone trying for anything more than a hug.  
  
“See, this was an awesome idea,” Stiles says, and Derek huffs a laugh. “You know you’re glad you didn’t miss out on this action.”  
  
“I would have been here hours ago if I hadn’t had to call everyone and reassure them.”  
  
Stiles groans. “Oh. Uh, sorry about that? I panicked a little.” He feels a little bad, but he can’t help the smile that spreads on his face. Shifting slightly, Derek pulls his free arm around Stiles’ waist and nuzzles against his hair. Not that he would call it that, Stiles thinks, hiding his smile against Derek’s neck. Now that Derek is here and no longer pissed off at Stiles, he can relax. He’s keeping an eye on his clock, though, and after ten minutes he reluctantly disentangles himself from Derek. “You better go.”  
  
Most of the lines have been smoothed from Derek’s face, and Stiles reaches over to press his thumb against the semi permanent crease at the corner of Derek’s mouth. Derek bats his hand away with a snort and rolls to his feet in one smooth motion.  
  
“Tomorrow,” he says. "Bring that stuff on trolls with you."  
  
“I’ll be there,” Stiles confirms, getting up and following Derek to the window. “With bells on even. Though I’ll take them off before we start cuddling because they would probably get annoying.” He grins cheekily when Derek just rolls his eyes, before he drags Stiles in to rub his stubbly face all up against Stiles' neck. Stiles gasps out a moan, only half on purpose, then has to bite back a laugh at Derek's pinched expression. Before Stiles can say anything about Derek's penchant for giving Stiles epic beard burn, Derek pushes him against the wall to kiss the breath out of him, then vaults out the window.  
  
"Don't forget my jacket tomorrow," Derek calls up, and Stiles leans over the window sill as Derek jogs over to his car.  
  
"You're not getting it back," Stiles says once Derek is safely in the Camaro, because the main advantage of not having werewolf hearing is being able to get the last word in. "That jacket is mine, buddy."  


End file.
